


Engineering Controls

by Whitnium



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dad Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Drabble, Gen, Grillmaster 76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 04:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12763446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitnium/pseuds/Whitnium
Summary: The Grillmaster has been through way too much in his life to put up with the insults of a cooking appliance.





	Engineering Controls

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling far from creative one night and asked for a writing prompt. I received: "At a BBQ and the cooker can't figure out why the grill won't start."

There is  a well-acknowledged truth in engineering: if something doesn't work, hitting it is a perfectly viable and often successful method of problem solving.

The Grillmaster is at an impasse as he stares down the offending object, arms crossed, eyebrows knit in an expression of extreme annoyance. With a sigh he tries the knobs again: the gas engages, the ignition switch clicks, but the grill remains steadfastly cool, mocking him.

There are steaks waiting to be raised, if the logo on the Grillmaster's apron is any indication, and more than half a dozen young punks (currently engaged elsewhere across the yard, and damn if he tries his best to _not_ be acutely aware of every stupid thing they are doing) waiting for their lunch.

Once more to the dials, one more flip of the switch. The grill wheezes as if thinking of coming to life before it putters out again.

His lip curls in a snarl; he's getting too damn old to have any patience. The Grillmaster has been through _way too much_ in his life to put up with the insults of a cooking appliance.

The A-Salt-Rifle is never far from his side despite the fact that he is standing in a yard in the middle of suburbia and that it likely does not meet the HOA requirements as an acceptable means of home security. But old habits die hard, really. With exquisite grace that comes  from years of practical training and the ferocity born from a cantankerous old man who doesn't have time for this shit, the Grillmaster flicks on his Tactical Sunglasses, levels the A-Salt-Rifle at the grill, and fires a perfectly placed barrage of helix rockets at point blank range.

The explosion is tremendous and immediately draws the attention of the aforementioned young punks, who betray any sense of self-preservation and run _toward_ it as a cohesive group.

When the smoke starts to clear the porch is littered in debris; half of the attached house is gone and the other half is on fire. The Grillmaster takes in the scene with an unusual sense of satisfaction. He reaches for one of the cans of Diet Heal-Up on his arm, miraculously unscathed despite everything, and downs it in several swallows. Looking at the young punks, he shrugs apathetically at the chaos of his own making and crushes the empty can with one hand.

 


End file.
